


Yoma (Tiefling)

by TheTravelerWrites



Series: Monster Lovers: Willowridge [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Demon/Human Relationships, Exophilia, F/M, Funeral, Human/Monster Romance, Human/Tiefling, Interspecies Romance, Monster Boyfriend, Monster sex, NSFW, Reader Insert, Reader-Insert, Sex, Sexual Content, Terato, Teratophilia, Tiefling, familial death, human/demon, human/monster, terato tag, tiefling boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 12:21:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15119309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTravelerWrites/pseuds/TheTravelerWrites
Summary: The reader meets a Tiefling going through a very hard time and has no one to turn to.





	Yoma (Tiefling)

You were dying for your shift to be up. Your feet were killing you and your spine felt like it might shoot out of your backside if you stayed upright for much longer. You only had thirty minutes left on your shift, the restaurant was dead, and you were the only waitress that volunteered to stay, just to get the extra tips.

Still, you were hoping no one was a big enough dick to come in this late. Everyone in food service absolutely hated late customers. You stood with the cooks in the kitchen as they cleaned up, joking around and talking shit, all of you hoping beyond hope the rest of the evening passed in silence.

As if by some form of hateful, ironic, universe injustice, a you heard the bell for the door chime as someone came in the front door, and everyone in the kitchen groaned. You shushed them and went out to greet the new arrival, trying to screw on a believable smile.

The patron was tall and thin, dressed smartly if slightly unkempt, his large black horns flecked with gold running along his head and fanning out behind his ears. His skin was a brick red, his longish hair silvery in color, his eyes solid gold, and his teeth pointed. He had seven fingers on each hand and instead of shoes or feet, he had large-ish cloven hooves that _tick-tack_ ed on the tile as he walked.

“Still open?” He asked, looking as tired as you felt

“Yes, sir,” You greeted him with a tone of false cheerfulness. “Table for one?”

“Yes,” He said wearily.

“Right this way, sir,” You grabbed up a menu and a set of silverware and led him to a small table at the back. “How’s this?”

“This is fine,” He said, sitting down with a tired grunt. “Whiskey neat, please, and keep it coming.”

“Sure thing,” You said, leaving him to go over the menu. You went to the bar to make his drink and frowned when you saw him put his head in his hands. You brought him his drink and set it down carefully.

“Are you alright, sir?” You asked him.

“I’ll have a cup of the potato soup, please,” He said without looking up, his voice muffled by his hands. “And as much bread as you’re allowed to bring me.”

“I’ll… be back with your order,” You said cautiously. His elbows rested on the table, one of which was on the menu, so you didn’t even try to take it.

You put his order into the kitchen, adding: “Hey, don’t fuck up this guy’s order, okay? I think something’s wrong.”

The guys in the kitchen were a rowdy bunch, but they were a decent sort, so if you said it, they’d listen. Five minutes later, you had a small, steaming tureen of soup, another whiskey, and a basket overflowing with dinner rolls fresh from the oven, and sat it down on his table. He hadn’t looked up.

“Sir,” You asked him apprehensively. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He looked up finally, and you realized he was on the verge of tears. “My mother died today.”

“Oh, my goodness,” You said, a hand on your heart. “I’m so sorry, sir.”

“I’ve been dealing with the funeral arrangements all day,” He said, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t even realize I hadn’t eaten until ten minutes ago, and your restaurant was the closest. I’m sorry it’s so late. I’ll try not to take up too much of your time.”

“No, no, don’t you worry about that,” You said, patting his hand. “You stay as long as you need to, okay?”

“Thanks,” He said. He looked around and noticed the restaurant was empty. “Actually, would you mind sitting with me? I’ve been dealing with this alone all day and I’d like some company, if you don’t mind,”

“Sure,” You said, laying your notepad on the table and sitting across from him. You weren’t typically allowed to do that, but this was a special circumstance. He gave you a ghost of a smile and took a sip of whiskey before breaking the bread and putting a piece of it in his mouth, chewing absentmindedly. He didn’t seem to be really hungry and looked like he had to force himself to eat.

“I’m Yoma,” He said. “What’s your name?”

You said it and pointed to your name tag.

He nodded and attempted to smile. “That’s a nice name. Thanks for… letting me in and sitting with me. I’ve worked in a restaurant before and I know how much the staff hates latecomers.”

You blushed. “Yeah, well, some things can’t be helped.”

He motioned at the basket. “Take a roll. I feel weird eating alone with someone else at the table.”

“Thanks,” You said. The both of you munched on bread without speaking, He used the bread to dip in the soup rather than use a spoon. You didn’t know what to say to him. A couple of times, you got up to refresh his whiskey, which he took with a nod, then sat back down.

At the end of the meal, he reached for his wallet to pay but you stopped him.

“It’s on the house, honey,” You told him.

He gave you the saddest side smile you’d ever seen. “Thanks,” He said.

“Are you okay to drive home?” I asked. He’d had quite a few drinks.

“I’ve got a cab coming,” He said, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Thanks for sitting with me.”

“No worries,” You said, lightly touching his upper arm. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

He half-smiled, stood, and walked out without another word. You watched from the window to make sure he did in fact get into a cab and not the driver’s seat of a car, then locked the door after him.

The next day, the hostess told you someone had left an envelope for you before you came in for your shift. It had your name on it in unfamiliar handwriting. You were already late for work, so you just folded it and put into your back pocket, forgetting about it.

It wasn’t until you got home and were pulling things out of your work pants to put them into the wash when you found it again and opened it. In it, you found five hundred dollars, a business card, and a note addressed to you that read:

_I was very grateful for your company last evening. You didn’t have to be as accommodating as you were; you could easily have told me that it was against the restaurant’s policy to sit with me, which I’m sure it is, and refused to humor me. I hope the enclosed tip I forgot to leave you last night will make up for any trouble I may have caused you._

_I will admit that in my life I have done much to drive people away, to the point where there is no one I can call upon to stand with me at my own mother’s funeral. I am unattached and I don’t have many acquaintances I could call friends. I am an only child and my mother’s friends and siblings have all died before her._

_I don’t wish to be the only person present when she is laid to rest. I know it is asking a lot of a person I’ve known all of ten minutes, but it would mean a great deal to me if you would accompany me to her wake. I assure you, your graciousness would not go unrewarded._

_If you decline, I will not think less of you; again, I recognize that it is asking a lot, not just of time but of trust. I have enclosed a card with my work and cell number on it. The wake is Sunday. Please call at any time with your answer. I will be pleased to hear from you, regardless of what you decide._

_Again, allow me to thank you for your kindness. It was the only bright point in a very dark day._

_I hope to hear from you soon._

_Yoma_

You had to read the letter over again before it sank in. You’d been to a funeral before, but never a stranger’s, and never _with_ a stranger. This was a weird situation, but it was clear this guy was hurting and lonely, and your heart broke for him.

Hoping it wasn’t too late in the evening, you dialed the cell number on the card. He picked up on the third ring.

“Hello?” He said. His voice sounded much the same as the last time you heard it, morose and dejected.

“Hi, Yoma?” You said. “It’s me, the girl from the restaurant.”

“Oh!” He said, his tone brightening a little. “You received my letter, then?”

“Yes,” You replied. “Thank you for the tip, but you really didn’t need to do that.”

“Oh, it’s the least I could have done,” He said. “Did you have a moment to consider my request? I know it’s unusual and I won’t hold it against you if you say no.”

“It’s okay,” You said. “I’ll do it.”

He didn’t respond right away. You thought maybe the line went dead.

“Yoma?” You said, confused. “Hello?”

“You’ll go with me?” He asked, as though he didn’t believe what he had heard.

“Yes,” You replied. “I know you’re going through a tough time. I want to help.”

“That’s… incredibly compassionate of you,” He said softly. “I can’t thank you enough for this.”

You made arrangements to meet him at a cafe near the funeral home on the day of the wake. You didn’t know why, but you felt nervous.

Sunday was four days away. He texted you a few times in the days leading up to it, nothing in-depth, just to ask how you were and how your day was going. You told him you were well. Once he asked if you were sure about going to the wake and if you had second thoughts, and you assured him it was no trouble and that he shouldn’t worry.

You’d ask him how he was doing in return, and he was always vague, saying he was fine and thanking you for your concern. You supposed it was a silly thing to ask. He had just lost his mother, after all. You had lost yours a few years before to a terminal illness. You knew exactly how it felt.

Sunday came, and you put on a demure but elegant black dress, the nicest one you owned. You curled and pinned up your hair and applied some light makeup. You wanted to look nice, but not date-nice. This wasn’t a date, and it would be weird to dress as though it were.

Despite arriving early, he was already waiting for you at the cafe with a bouquet of white roses. He wore a very tasteful suit, all solid black, even the shirt, tie, and pocket square. On a human, it may have looked flat or dull, but with his unique hair and skin color, it had a rather captivating effect.

He stood as you approached and reached for your hand to shake it, business-like. “You look lovely,” He said. “Thank you again for agreeing to this.”

“Please, don’t worry about it,” You said. “I hate the thought of anyone going through something like this alone.”

He smiled, a real genuine smile. It changed his face quite drastically, and you couldn’t help but think he was rather handsome. You hadn’t met many Tieflings before, and wondered if they were all as attractive.

The cafe was in one side of a park square, and on the street opposite the park was a funeral parlor. He motioned for you to follow him, and the two of you crossed through the park and to the building.

Inside, you were greeted by a somber man in a crisp blue suit who spoke with a quiet, mournful tone. Yoma talked with him briefly, and then you were both directed to a small receiving room wherein a shiny, black casket lay open surrounded by flowers.

You and Yoma were indeed the only two people in attendance. Yoma stepped forward and laid the bouquet on the closed side of the casket and looked into the open side, where he could see his mother’s face. He whispered something to her in a language you couldn’t understand.

Unsure whether you should give him room to grieve or be close to comfort him, you let your instinct lead you and stepped up next to him, placing a hand very lightly on the small of his back.

He looked down at you in surprise, but didn’t pull away. “She’d been hanging on for a while,” He said. “She’d had a stroke a few years ago that left her bedridden. I used to say that she’d outlive us all just from pure spite. I guess she proved me wrong.”

You couldn’t keep saying you were sorry over and over, so you did the only thing you could think of, which was to rub his back gently in a soothing way.

You looked down at the woman laying in the casket. She was very similar to her son, though her hair was pitch black, not silvery. Her skin was also a lighter color, although that could be a death pallor.

“I’ve only been to one other funeral before, and there were far more people, so I’m unsure how long we’re expected to stay,” He said uncertainly.

“Are you uncomfortable?” You asked him.

“Very much so,” He said.

“When is she supposed to be buried?”

“She isn’t,” He replied. “She’s going to be cremated once we’ve finished here. I’m to pick up her remains in three days.”

“Would you like me to come with you then?”

He looked down at you, tears leaking from his eyes. “Yes, please. Thank you.”

You continued to stroke his back and stood with him in silence for a few minutes, looking down at the deceased woman.

“I almost feel like I’d be disrespecting her if I left right now,” He said. “I didn’t visit her as often as I should have when she was alive. I was all she had left and I never went to see her. I was a shit son. She deserved better.”

“I’d like to say that’s not true, but I don’t really know you that well,” You said, hoping you didn’t just insult him.

He actually chuckled. “At least you’re honest,” He said. “I don’t think I can stand this much longer.”

You nodded. “It’s okay. This is supposed to be hard. We should go if you’re upset.”

He wiped his eyes and turned to have a quiet, brief conversation with the funeral director, then took you gently by the elbow and led you out.

“Let me take you to dinner,” He said. “It’s the least I can do.”

You smiled. “Sure, thanks.”

He took you to a nice Italian place and ordered an entire bottle of wine as soon as you walked in the door.

“I hope you don’t think I’m some sort of lush,” He said as he poured you both a glass. “I don’t drink all that much normally. This has all just… hit me a little too hard.”

“No, I get it,” You said. “I was blitzed for weeks after my mom died.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” He said. “How did she pass?”

“Cancer. She thought she had it beat, but it grew back practically overnight and caught us all by surprise.” You took a sip of your wine. “She was divorced and living alone, so I’d taken time from school and gone down to look after her. I had been taking care of her for a few months when I found she’d died in her sleep one morning.”

“Dear lord,” He said, horrified. “That’s awful. I couldn’t imagine going through something like that.”  

You sighed heavily. “At least she’s not in pain anymore. It’s a small comfort, but it’s better than nothing.”

The wine opened you both up a little. You learned his father was also dead, having died in the army overseas when he was young, and that his mother had been ostracized from the rest of her family for marrying a human, which explained why no one else was at the funeral. He also told you he owned several small hotels in the city, a begrudging inheritance from his mother’s father, and that he hated it because it felt unearned, but at least it kept him from having to work a nine-to-five grind and gave him the freedom to do as he pleased.

You told him that you had a brother you were close to and a dad you weren’t, that you were working toward a PhD in psychology and wanted to be a trauma counsellor. You had an elderly dog named Firetruck you’d had since you were ten and that you did speed-painting tutorials on Youtube for fun. He seemed highly amused by your hobbies, but not in a mocking way.

Dinner had been lovely, but he had finished the bottle of wine and started on another by the time the check came. He was slightly tipsy, so you were determined to drive him home. You took his keys and sat him in the passenger seat of his rather expensive car, strapping his seatbelt across him. You looked at the GPS on his phone to find his home address, and started toward it. He continued to drink from the wine bottle and you hoped no cops saw him doing that as you drove.

He actually lived in a suite of one of his hotels, though you were surprised it wasn’t the penthouse. He mumbled blearily that the penthouse suite was too pretentious. He stumbled up to his suite and as you were unlocking the door, he bent to kiss you.

“Whoa,” You said, pushing back against his shoulder. “I’m flattered, but you’re drunk. I think you should just go to bed and sleep this off.”

“I just…” He started to sob sloppily, sloshing the wine on the carpet before promptly dropping the bottle.

“Okay there, buddy,” You said, picking up the bottle before it could make a puddle and also somehow keeping him upright. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Stay with me,” He said in a watery mutter, clutching weakly at your wrist.

“No, no,” You said, prying his hand off. “Not a good idea. You need sleep.”

His apartment had three bedrooms, but you could guess which was his by the state of disarray it was in. He collapsed face down on the bed and you had to maneuver his head so he didn’t suffocate. He was far to heavy for you to move him much more than that. You did manage to get his coat off. You took his wallet out of his pocket and set it, his keys, and his phone by his head so he’d see it when he awoke.

He was still sobbing into the sheets of his bed, muttering incoherently, and you felt bad for leaving him, but he needed to rest. It had been a hard day for him. So you waited with him until he fell asleep and you were sure he wasn’t going to choke on his own vomit before heading home, making sure to empty the wine bottle of its remaining contents and throw the bottle away as you left.

The next morning, around nine, you got a text from him apologizing for his behavior. You decided to call him.

“Good morning,” He answered sheepishly.

“Hey,” You said. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve got a splitting headache,” He said. “But I’ll live. I’m really sorry for getting so wasted. And I’m sorry for trying to kiss you. I shouldn’t have overstepped like that, and being drunk is no excuse. I appreciate you taking care of me.”

“I’m surprised you remembered any of that. Anyway, I wasn’t just going to let you drive home or leave you in a puddle on the floor of your apartment.”

“Can I make it up to you?” He asked. “Let me make you dinner tonight. And I promise not to have a drop of alcohol.”

You smiled. “That sounds really nice, but I have work tonight. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow it is, then,” He said.

Immediately after hanging up, you received a text from him telling you how much he was looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. You couldn’t help but smile and feel a bit giddy.

The next evening, he met you at his door, dressed as casually as you’d ever seen him in a white crew-neck t-shirt and black jeans. You could see the contour of his muscles under the shirt and swallowed your heart back down into your chest.

“Come in, please,” He said. You were surprised that he appeared to be a little nervous. “You’re a little early. I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

He led you into the kitchen, where you saw take-out boxes and plates on which he was carefully arranging the food. You raised an eyebrow at him.

He laughed at your expression. “I have a confession: I’m a terrible cook. I just didn’t feel like making a fool of myself in a restaurant again.”

You snickered. “I supposed I can understand that. It smells good, at least.”

He smiled brightly at you, and you felt your body grow warm. You went to help him finish plating and, true to his word, he poured iced tea into the glasses instead of alcohol.

You took your plates and glasses to the table and, although there were eight chairs and place settings, the two of you sat next to each other, so close that your legs were almost touching.

You made small talk over dinner, but you couldn’t help noticing that he kept making excuses to touch you or move closer. At some point, you leaned your leg against his and he didn’t pull away. You felt heat rising between your legs every time his hand brushed your fingers or his leg pressed against yours.

As you bent down to take the last bite, a hair crossed over your face and he instantly reached out to smooth it back. You caught his hand before he could retrieve it and held it against the hollow of your neck, looking up at him through your lashes. His eyes were hazy and glazed as he looked down at you.

You didn’t so much fall into each other’s arms as aggressively lunge at each other.

You knocked over your chair and sent a plate crashing to the floor, but neither of you cared. He pushed you roughly up against the wall, sending a framed decoration flying, kissing you hard, his teeth grazing your lips. You ripped the shirt off of his back as he lifted you up and wrapped your legs around his waist, sucking your neck and collarbone. He reached a hand under your skirt to rub you over your underwear and you swore loudly in his ear.

He chuckled. “That’s what I like to hear,” He said as he nibbled on your ear, careful not to break the skin with his sharp teeth. He moved to sit you on a ornament table and swiped everything off it, paying no attention to what shattered as it hit the ground.

He knelt down, pulling your underwear off your legs and let his long tongue flick out, circling the folds of tender skin between your legs. You groaned and gripped his horns, holding him in place as he tasted you. As he pressed his tongue inside you, you reached up to unbutton your blouse and pulled down the cups of your bra to free your breasts, playing with your nipples as he sucked at you. He looked up at you and smiled.

Your pelvis rocked against his mouth as you gasped and moaned. Suddenly, he stood up straight and spread your legs as wide as was possible in the position you were in.

“I’m sorry,” He said breathlessly. “I can’t wait.” He reached down and unzipped his pants, letting his length fall free. It was the same brick red as the rest of him and dotted with symmetrical bumps and a flat head, which he shoved roughly into you.

You cried out as he buried himself to the hilt and stilled, his thighs shaking, both of you still mostly dressed. After a moment, he began to ram into you without mercy, making your legs spasm with each thrust, bouncing the table noisily against the wall with each stroke. He had his arms wrapped tightly around your back and his face buried in your hair, breathing harshly, as you clung to him, letting him use your body as he needed. His right arm locked around your hips, holding you firmly in place.

It didn’t take him long before he gave a sharp shout and gushed inside you, grunting and jerking. He’d apparently been pent up for a while, because there was a lot of it dripping out of you and onto the hardwood floor before he was done. Once he became still, he held you in place with his face still in your hair, panting hard.

At length, he pulled back slightly and kissed your lips.

“Sorry,” He breathed. “I haven’t been with anyone in a while. I’m a little out of practice.”

“It’s okay,” You said, easing down off of the table and stretching to get the feeling back in you legs. “You can make it up to me.”

He grinned. “I’d be more than happy to. Let’s go get cleaned up.”

He took you to the master bathroom and turned on the shower, undressing you both, lowering his head to suck at your breasts. You hands tangled in his hair as he pulled you into the shower stall, putting his many fingers between your legs, washing you clean but also rubbing against your bud playfully. You laughed and moaned.

He lay you down against the tiles, putting a towel under your head, and continued to suckle at your core, using his fingers to push inside of you as his tongue worked over the nerves under the mound. With the sweetness of his touch and the water cascading down your bodies, every inch of your skin felt like it was on fire.

He may have been out of practice, but this seemed to be a skill with which he had been naturally gifted. He couldn’t have been at it more than a few minutes before you felt the wave of pleasure crash over you, your cries mixing with the splattering of the water against the tiles.

As you came out of it, you realized he was kneeling between your legs, lining himself up with on hand and his other on your stomach, holding you still. He watched himself slide into you, and you groaned as your still-sensitive inner walls took him in, squeezing him hard. He wheezed a breath as he felt you clamp down on him, his eyes snapping shut.

He opened his eyes again as he began to move, watching you take him in over and over. He seemed to greatly enjoy the sight, because it spurred him to move faster and faster. Once he was at a steady pace with the wet slapping sounds echoing off of the walls, his body came down to lay over yours, his mouth capturing your lips for a deep, sloppy kiss.

You moaned and gasped as he grunted and groaned, thrusting in at an angle that hit every inch of you delectably, and you could feel another wave coming quick. He could feel it building inside you, because he slammed harder while maintaining pace, hitting that pearl with precision and vigor.

The heat burst over you, rolling your eyes back and curling your toes. You screamed his name in his ear and left scratches on his back. This must have been the tipping point for him, because he pulled out suddenly, kneeling up and taking himself in his hand as he sprayed over your belly and breasts, spurting over and over again as his hips thrust against his grip, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

When he was done, he let go of himself and grabbed a washcloth, carefully cleaning you of his warmth, and casting it into a hamper. He then soaped up a loofah and washed your body as you lie there, trying to get your breath back.

When you finally opened your eyes, he was kneeling over you, grinning, the water still running down his hair and over his shoulders.

“Better?” He asked.

You nodded and smiled. “Much better.”

He lowered down to kiss you softly. “Will you stay the night?”

You laughed. “I didn’t bring any clothes.”

“So don’t wear any.”

You slapped his arm playfully. He chuckled and reached up to turn the water off. He stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist and offered one to you. He took another and began rubbing it through your hair gently.

“I have to go and get Mom’s ashes tomorrow,” He said soberly. “Are you still coming with me?”

“Of course I am,” You said, turning to hug him around the waist. “I thought you’d have realized by now that you don’t have to do things alone anymore. I’m here whenever you need me.”

He put his arms around your shoulders and kissed your forehead. “What if I always need you?”

You smiled up at him. “Then I’ll always be here.”

He rested his head on yours and sighed heavily. “I can’t tell you what a comfort that is.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” You said, hugging him tighter. “I know.”


End file.
